


what we build could be anything

by mayyouwalk



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (no more than is in the show), Alternate Universe - High School, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Offscreen Animal Death, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayyouwalk/pseuds/mayyouwalk
Summary: High School AUMickey's pretty sure he never signed up to be friends with a Gallagher, but trust Mandy to not give a shit about him or his senior year.





	what we build could be anything

**Author's Note:**

> "Even after all that rushing around, where we've ended up is the  
> middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.  
> And maybe knowing isn't the point.  
> Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark,  
> what we build could be anything.”  
> 
> 
> \- Chuck Palahniuk, _Choke_
> 
>  
> 
> This is how it could have happened. I 100% blame [this picture](http://imgur.com/a/EvzGB) for this fic. IMO, the show could have used about a thousand more hours of Mandy and Ian being best buds, hanging out together while Mickey begrudgingly skulks in the background.)

-

 

The first thing Mickey notices about Ian Gallagher is his mouth.

It's stained blue from an ice pop, the knockoff rocket pops that Mandy later tells him she unearthed in Kev's dealing van. So when Mickey walks into the Gallagher's backyard looking for his sister, the first thing his eyes catch on is Ian, sitting on the deck stairs, head thrown back in a laugh, lips and tongue a deep purple-blue.

"Hey, doucheface!" Mandy calls when she sees him, and every single fucking Gallagher plus whatever other assholes they'd invited to this impromptu BBQ turn to look at him.

He scowls at her. "Bitch, where the fuck have you been? Iggy needs us."

"Not ‘til tonight!" Mandy pouts at him. Her lips are a shiny too bright red from her own ice pop. She moves from the railing she's leaning over next to Ian and puts her hands on her hips.

Mickey walks over to them as the rest of the party goes back to eating and swimming. "Got moved up. We're going. Now."

"Such a buzzkill," Mandy grumbles, stalking over to the other side of the yard, stumbling a little on the grass.

"Ey!"

"Fucking chill! I'm just getting my fucking jacket, asswipe!"

Mickey grumbles under his breath and looks down. Ian smiles up at him, lips stretched around the popsicle, which he pulls out of his mouth with a wet, obscene slurp that makes Mickey grind his teeth together. Ian opens the cooler next to him, revealing a mix of Old Style beers and more ice pops, one of which he grabs and holds out to Mickey. "Want one?"

Mickey snorts. "Yeah, maybe if I was 6." He reaches past Ian's outstretched arm and snags a beer. Ian sways a little towards him and Mickey breathes in sweat and beer and sun.

He digs his butterfly knife out of the back of his jeans and punches a hole into the can, tipping it up to his mouth and popping the tab. When he finishes shotgunning and crushes the can, tossing it behind him, he sees Ian staring at his throat, mouth open a little.

"The fuck you looking at?" Mickey belches, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Nothin'." Ian smiles up at him again, and Mickey notices his face is flushed, eyes a little unfocused. There are a few empty cans of beer on the step next to him. Mickey’s about to make a snide comment about Gallagher not being able to hold his booze when Ian licks a long stripe up his ice pop, wrapping his lips around the top and sliding the whole thing in his mouth, pulling it out slowly, heavy-lidded eyes on Mickey's face. A blue drop runs out of the corner of his mouth and Ian chases it with his tongue.

Mickey's brain goes a little fuzzy then, and he's not sure how long he spends staring at Ian mouth-fucking a popsicle, but suddenly Mandy is crashing into his side and the rest of the world slams back into place.

"Mickey, can we stay a little longer?" Mandy slurs in his ear, thin arms around his chest and Mickey wonders if everyone at this fucking party is trashed. It's not exactly a stretch; Frank is slumped over a tree stump and it's not even 3pm. "Lip promised he'd show me the science project he's working on upstairs."

"Science project, my ass," Mickey grunts, trying to disentangle himself. Drunk Mandy was like a fucking octopus. "The shithead better not be taking you upstairs to show you anything, you got me?"

"You should stay." Ian's looking up at them, smiling that ridiculously wide, soft smile that Mickey can't believe no one’s punched off his face yet. "Fi brought home some burgers and hot dogs from work, we're gonna toss them on the grill soon."

"Assuming no one sets themselves on fire first."

Ian giggles at him, fucking giggles like he's not a 15 year old kid from the south side and Mickey's not a damn Milkovich.

"Mick, please?" Mandy bats her eyelashes at him. "One more beer? Iggy can wait."

"...Alright, shit, one beer." Mickey winces as Mandy shrieks in his ear. "But only if you get the fuck off me, alright?"

Mandy smacks a kiss against his temple and spins off, headed over to where Lip seems to be showing Carl how to properly take aim with a BB gun, like that’s not an accident looking for a place to happen.

"Now do you want one of these?" Ian's smirking, holding out another popsicle.

Mickey eyes it for a moment before his eyes flick up to Ian's open, easy expression. "Only if it's not orange."

Ian makes a face. "Who doesn't like orange? Everybody likes orange."

"I'm not gonna sit here and debate goddamn flavor preferences," Mickey says, swiping the popsicle out of Ian's hand. Ian just laughs, sliding over on the steps to make room for Mickey, who raises an eyebrow but drops down a step below him. "Especially since grape is obviously the best."

Ian looks at him from under his lashes. "Guess you'll have to open it to find out."

Mickey licks his lips and for a fraction of a fraction of a second, he sees Ian's eyes dart down to them. He swallows and rips off the popsicle wrapper.

Of course it’s fucking orange.

\---

It’s weird because after that day, Ian seems to be everywhere.

Mickey comes home and Mandy’s on the couch with her legs in Ian’s lap; he goes to the pizza place down the street and Lip and Ian come flying out with two pies, the owner inside roaring that they haven’t paid; he spends a day helping Joey out at a construction site and Ian shows up to break stone, sweating through a tank top and inviting Mickey back to his house for a beer after.

One time he somehow gets dragged along to a movie with Mandy and Ian, the promise of free air conditioning at the rundown theatre across the city more enticing than the movie itself. They split a joint on the way there which means Mandy giggles her way through _Terminator Genisys_. That sets Ian off, and Mickey has to elbow the two of them to get them to shut the fuck up. It’s not so bad, though; Ian keeps leaning over to make stupid comments about the dialogue and Mickey has to fight not to laugh.

It goes on like that for a couple months, then summer ends and everyone bitches about how short it was. Mickey doesn’t say otherwise but deep down he doesn't really mind it: time at school means less time at home. Other than Joey’s jabs at him whenever he catches him studying, and Iggy ripping papers out of his textbooks for rolling paper, his family mostly steers clear of him during the school year. Even Terry gives Mickey more space and he gets to skip out on the smaller jobs, mostly only going along as backup to his brothers or for some easy B&E.

It's nice, a little quieter, a little calmer. Plus, it stops being hot as balls.

\---

"Hey, Mickey!"

He should get Gallagher a damn bell is what he should do. That way he'd hear him coming and wouldn't be caught sitting in front of his lockers before first period and he’d be able to finish up his English assignment in peace.

"Mickey?" Ian stops in front of him, grinning. He'd cut his hair right before school started and it was shorter now, out of his face. It's a good look for him, something Mickey absolutely does not feel the need to tell him.

"Jesus, what?" Mickey says, exasperated, looking back down at his paper.

Still grinning, Ian kicks lightly at his calf. Mickey reflexively pulls back and aims a kick at Ian, but he dances back out of the way. "That for O'Malley's class?"

"Yeah."

"Did you read all four chapters?"

"Are you taking a survey or something?" Mickey glances up, annoyed. "Why're you here so early?"

"It's Mandy's birthday," Ian says, like Mickey doesn't know his own sister's birthday. He'd gotten her a new beanie and a switchblade, left them both on her dresser before he left for school.

"And?"

"And, I want to decorate her locker." Ian sets his backpack on the ground and crouches down to unzip it, pulling out wrapping shiny paper, tape, scissors and dollar store streamers. "Want to help?"

"I'd rather stick pins in my eyes, so no, thanks," Mickey says, scribbling down the symbolism of a conch shell. It's mostly bullshit, but if he makes a decent enough argument he usually gets partial credit. "What are you doing that for, anyway?"

"Just trying to be a good boyfriend," Ian says cheerfully.

"Boyfriend?" Mickey looks up at that. "Uh, I hate to burst your bubble but I'm pretty sure I saw her with half the lacrosse team last week, man. And they weren't running practice drills."

To Mickey's surprise Ian just laughs, shaking his head and continuing to tape up streamers. Mickey watches him for another moment, but when Ian doesn't respond he huffs, glancing back down at his work. He's written the word _boyfriend_ down where he meant to write _assessing_ , and he erases it so hard the paper rips a little.

He finishes the assignment but stays where he is until Mandy shows up, watching Ian work. Five minutes before the bell for homeroom is supposed to ring, Mandy rounds the corner. She’s wearing the beanie, and she freezes once she sees them, face blank for a moment before breaking out into a huge grin. She runs up to Ian and throws her arms around his neck but not before Mickey sees her eyes shining a little too brightly, hears her whisper "thanks" softly into his neck.

Mickey looks away, face hot for no reason he can name.

\---

Mickey and Mandy are sitting at the kitchen table when there’s a screech of tires, a thud, and a loud “mother- _fucker_!” from outside.

Mandy takes a sip of her coffee and Mickey flips the newspaper over to check the Sox score. Neither of them bother to look up until Ian bursts in, breathless.

“Carl bit a dog.”

Mandy frowns. “You mean a dog bit-”

“No,” Ian says.

“And?” Mickey says, picking up the newspaper he’d dropped.

“It was Boris’s dog.”

Mickey puts the newspaper back down. Mandy says, “You mean the one from down the street? The crazy Russian mob boss Boris?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey stands up. “Dog dead?”

“It ran out into the street and got hit by a van.”

“Sounds like not your problem anymore.”

“It was Kev’s van,” Ian says, running a hand through his hair. “Lip was driving. We need to get rid of it and find a replacement dog before Boris gets home.”

Mickey pulls his phone out of his back pocket and starts dialing. Mandy looks up at him. “What are you doing?”

“I know a guy.”

“You know a dog guy?” Ian asks, blinking.

Mickey shushes him. “Yeah, Colin? Your sister still working at the shelter down the block? Need a favor.”

\---

“I cannot believe I’m digging a dog grave right now.”

“Anyone want to say a few words? ‘Here lies Spot, he was a good dogg-o-’”

“Shut the fuck up and dig, Gallagher.”

\---

"....Are you two shitheads actually playing MarioKart?"

Mickey stops halfway to his room, staring at the oversaturated colors on the screen blurring by.

"Mmhm," Mandy says. Then, jerking her controller to the right, "oh fuck you Ian, I thought you were out of shells!"

"We don't own MarioKart," Mickey says blankly.

"Lip swiped it today," Ian says, not taking his eyes off the screen. "He's banging the cashier at gamestop, you know, the blonde one?"

Mandy rolls her eyes and narrowly misses a banana peel. She shifts up onto her knees, trying to place her shoulders between Ian and the TV, blocking his view.

"Hey, cheater!" Ian ducks around her, biting his lower lip and careening sort of wildly down Rainbow Road, but he sneaks past Mandy just as they come up on their last curve. He whoops when he crosses the finish line first, his Bowser fist pumping.

Mandy shoves his shoulder. "Rematch?"

Ian shakes his head, turns to hold his controller out to Mickey.

"You wanna play?" he says. "I need to start my homework anyway."

"You staying the night?" Mickey asks, shoving Ian over on the couch so he can drop down next to him. Their arms and thighs press up against each other, but just because it's a small couch Mickey isn't going to sit on the floor in his own damn house. Ian gives him a wide grin.

"Nah, just for dinner."

"I put ramen on," Mandy says, while Ian nods, fiddling with his controller for a second before passing it to Mickey and reaching for his backpack.

"Whatever." Mickey squints at the screen as the countdown clock starts. When he looks down at his character, he elbows Ian hard in the ribs. "You made me fucking Princess Peach?!"

Mandy lets out a delighted laugh as Ian snickers. "Too late to change it now, Mickey."

"Fuckers," Mickey grumbles. "Beat all your asses with a goddamn frying pan."

This only makes them laugh harder, so he makes sure he wins by a decent length, just to get them to shut up.

\---

"You wear glasses?"

They're in the middle of history when Ian had started poking him in the shoulder with the end of his pencil, whispering at him.

"Yeah, weirdly they help me do this thing called seeing," Mickey hisses back, still copying down notes from the blackboard.

"They're cute."

Mickey drops his pen and swivels around. "The fuck you just say to me?"

"Focus, Milkovich!" their teacher barks, and Mickey glares at Ian's shit eating grin for a moment more before turning back around.

"Easy tough guy, I was joking," Ian whispers after a minute.

"Fucking dick."

He hears Ian's breathy chuckle behind him.

"I've never seen you wear them before." Ian pokes him in the shoulder again, but gently.

"Usually just need them for distance, 'm not blind or anything." Mickey pauses when someone asks a question and waits for the teacher to finish responding. "I know they look stupid, ok? Can't afford contacts though and squinting gives me a headache."

He's not sure why he decides to unload all that on Ian in class, in the middle of a discussion about Belgium 1831. Honestly he's a little embarrassed that he needs the glasses, had denied needing them until the day he got a migraine so bad the nurse sent him home with instructions to get to an eye doctor, and his dad had backhanded him when he saw the bill. He'd gotten the cheapest, flimsiest pair he could find and said they fit even though they were a little loose. They slide down his nose and he looks like an even bigger loser when he has to keep pushing them up, but it's better than the headaches.

Behind him, Ian's quiet, and Mickey feels the back of his neck heat up. He should have just kept his big mouth shut.

"They don't look stupid." Ian finally says, softly. "They really do look good."

Mickey turns his head slightly and looks at Ian over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.

"Really." Ian raises his eyebrows beseechingly and leans forward. "I always wanted glasses."

Mickey rolls his eyes. "They're a pain in the ass. You're lucky you don't need 'em."

"Well, anyway. I like yours." Ian reaches forward like he's going to touch them and Mickey jerks back. He stares but Ian just smiles at him, dropping his hand.

He stares until the teacher snaps at him to turn back around.

\---

Later, Ian asks to try them on, and Mickey almost swallows his tongue when Ian slides them on his face. He didn't think the kid's eyes could get any bigger.

\---

The first time Ian tries to kiss him, Mickey almost punches him in the face.

It should have been - it had been - a good day. Mickey hadn't failed any of his midterms, was even acing math (numbers came easy to him, always had and if the drug runs give him extra practice, well, he doesn't think his teachers would appreciate knowing it), and provided he did fine on his finals and didn't kill anyone, he'd actually graduate with the rest of his class this year.

Ian had called his name and jogged up to him in the hallway, all bouncy energy.

"Hey Mick." Ian grins when Mickey grunts at him, not stopping as he heads down to the doors. He only has fifteen minutes left of his lunch break and he'll be damned if he doesn't spend it outside polluting his lungs.

"Gallagher."

"How'd you do on the chem quiz?" Ian pushes open the double doors and steps back to let Mickey go ahead of him, one arm propping it open. Mickey rolls his eyes at him and elbows him a little in the stomach as he walks out. Ian just smiles wider.

"Did fine. Wasn't that hard." Mickey reaches into his back pocket, hoping he's got a least a few cigarettes left in his pack. He really needs to swipe a new one, but he'd been busy studying this week and hadn't gotten around to it. He'll steal Iggy's stash when he gets home.

Luckily there's two left, only slightly crumpled. Mickey digs out his lighter and tries several times to get it to catch, but the wind is too much.

Wide hands cup around his, and suddenly Ian is crowding his space. Mickey's entire body tenses but he manages not to move a muscle and just flicks on the lighter again. This time it catches and Mickey nods his thanks, dragging in the smoke and letting it settle over his nerves like a warm blanket.

Ian steps back and the cold rushes in, but he leans one shoulder up on the brick wall next to Mickey. "I dunno, I had trouble with a couple questions. Chemical bonds always confuse me."

"It's just memorization." Mickey inhales and raises an eyebrow when Ian holds out his hand for the cigarette, passing it over because he sure as fuck isn't giving Gallagher his last one. "Mandy's pretty good at that shit, should have her tutor you."

"Sounds like you're pretty good at it too."

"Yeah, but I'd make a crap teacher." He cracks his knuckles.

Ian smirks. "Corporal punishment your thing?"

"Fucking tragedy that that was outlawed, man," Mickey says, ignoring the warm feeling in his stomach when Ian tips his head back and laughs.

They fall into an easy silence, passing the cigarette back and forth. It was getting colder, October easing into November, the wind turning chilly and icy. It'll be winter break soon, and Mickey will be pulled onto more runs with his brothers and dad, playing lookout or driver. He tries not to think about it.

Ian shivers, and Mickey notices his coat is thin and worn, probably a hand me down from Lip. "S'cold."

"So go back in." Mickey blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth, flicking the nub of his cigarette away and debating reaching for the other one.

Ian shrugs, half smile on his face. The movement shifts him a little closer to Mickey. "Nah."

"No one's forcing you to be out here."

"I want to be out here."

"Well shit, I'm going back in." Mickey pushes off the wall and goes to move around Ian. "Have fun freezing your balls off-"

Ian grabs his arm as he goes by and reels him forward. Mickey's surprised enough that he stumbles, and suddenly Ian's pressing his mouth to his.

Mickey doesn't even think before he reacts, shoving Ian back hard so he hits the wall and his head thunks back into it.

"Ow, fuck-" Ian reaches a hand to feel the back of his head, face scrunched up.

"The fucking- the fucking FUCK, Gallagher!" Mickey shoves him again. "What the fuck was that?"

"I thought-" Ian's eyes search Mickey's whole face, jaw jutted out in something like defiance. "I just thought-"

"You just thought," Mickey sneers. He moves forward, shoving Ian in the chest, pressing him back to the wall. "You just thought I was some fucking faggot?!"

"Just-just the, it's just the way you look at me sometimes-"

Mickey sees red. He doesn't even realize he's punched the bricks next to Ian's head until he see the flinch on Ian's face and his whole fist feels like it's on fire. It's a good distraction from the way his chest feels, like his lungs have stopped working and he can't get in any more air.

"I don't look at you any kind of way, you got that?" Mickey snarls, a hand on Ian's collarbone, pressing in, Ian wincing as the back of his head scrapes the wall. "The only reason you're not dead right now is because I don't want to listen to my sister bitch about me killing her best friend. Stay the fuck away from me from now on, you fuckin’ got that?"

"Ok," Ian gasps, hands shoving ineffectively at Mickey's shoulders. "Ok, jesus, I got it, ok!"

Mickey gives him one last shove before pushing away, turning around. He's choking on air, can't seem to breathe in. He stalks away from the building, from Ian and his big, dumb, hurt eyes.

"You have class!" Ian calls after him, voice raw and cracking, and Mickey's stomach lurches unpleasantly.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't turn back around, doesn't stop until he's at the Alibi.

\---

The next couple weeks are torture. He gets drunk every night just so he can sleep, and either skips the classes he shares with Ian or shows up late and sits by the door so he can bolt as soon as the bell rings. He maps out new routes to get to class, finds new ways to get around the neighborhood without walking by the Gallagher house.

When Mandy invites Ian over he goes into his room and locks the door, ignoring her when she calls out to ask him anything.

"He's been weird since last Tuesday." He hears Mandy say one day. "Wonder what crawled up his ass."

He turns up his music so he doesn't have to hear Ian's response, if there is one. Takes a drink from his bottle of whiskey and waits for the buzz to kick in.

\---

He knew telling Ian about the abandoned buildings near the El would come back to bite him in the ass one day. Mickey’s not really all that surprised when he shows up one afternoon to find Ian already on the roof, smoking and hunching his shoulders against the cold. He turns on heel and starts heading for the door, but he's not quick enough.

"Mickey, wait," Ian calls, and his voice sounds like Mickey's insides have been, all twisted up and wretched. "We need to talk."

"Don't have anything to say," Mickey says, not stopping, not turning around. He hears the gravel crunch as Ian hurries after him.

"I do."

"I don't give a shit."

"I just want to-just let me explain, please." Ian's caught up to him now, just behind him as he jogs down the stairs back to the ground floor. "I'm sorry. What I did was...it was stupid, ok? Springing it on you like that, I wasn't thinking."

"That's for damn sure," Mickey mutters, not slowing down.

Ian speeds up to step in front of him when they reach the bottom of the stairs, blocking his path.

"Get lost, Gallagher." Mickey gives him his best glare but Ian just keeps looking at him like Mickey had just run over his dog. "Got nothing to say to you."

"I'm sorry," Ian says, stepping closer, so Mickey has to look up a little if he wants to look at his face. It absolutely doesn't make Mickey's pulse jump at all. "I get it if me being gay freaks you out, ok? I haven't even told my family yet, really, but I. I wanted to tell you. I thought -”

Ian huffs, ducks his head. “Doesn't matter what I thought, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out when I kissed you, I -"

Mickey shoves him back against the crumbling wall hard, one hand on his chest sliding up to his neck. Squeezes until Ian makes a choking noise.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Mickey digs his nails into Ian's skin. "You bring that up again and I will shove my pistol so far up your ass you'll be spitting bullets, got it? It never fucking happened."

Ian drags in a rough breath and Mickey eases up a little on his throat. He's not expecting the kick to his shin, and his grip slips. Ian shoves him away hard, glaring at him.

"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian spits, rubbing his throat. "You wanna queer bash now, huh? Jesus.”

"I'm not doing this." Mickey turns and stalks out the door.

"Pussy!" Ian yells after him. Mickey walks faster.

Three block later he ducks into an alley and retches, emptying his stomach onto the concrete. Two figures huddled at the other end of the alley look up.

“Mind your own fucking business!” Mickey yells, wiping his mouth. “Fuck!” He punches the dumpster next to where he puked and walks away before he keeps hitting it until his hand breaks. Anything to stop the stinging behind his eyes.

\---

Mickey is...very drunk.

Not the drunkest he's ever been (that would probably be one of the Milkovichs' celebratory ‘Terry’s out of jail’ parties) but he's getting there. He's not sure how many shots he's had but at some point he tells Kev to just leave the bottle. Kev protests until Mickey throws down a hundred in cash on the bar, then the guy just looks the other way.

Three-quarters of the bottle later and Mickey feels, if not better, than at least buzzed enough not to care that he feels like shit. He's just patting himself on the back for coming up with the successful plan of getting shitfaced, when the bar's doors bang open and the Gallagher clan comes banging in, Fiona shouting something about Lip getting accepted into college and Mickey doesn't look away fast enough, he catches red hair out of the corner of his eye and has to pour himself another shot. His hand, bloodied and bruised, throbs.

He keeps his head down and hopes they migrate to the back booths. Mercifully, they do; their little party seemingly self-contained for now, since Kev takes it upon himself to bring their drinks to them so no one has to come up to the bar. Mickey pours another glass over ice and wonders if he should just go before his luck runs out, but, well, Milkovichs weren't the smartest bunch and they certainly didn't run away from anything or anyone, so Mickey just squares his shoulders and sips on his drink.

It's fine for a while, ignoring the noise behind him and focusing on the steadily increasing buzzing in his head. After a trip to the bathroom, he finds himself in the alley behind the Alibi, digging up his pack of cigarettes.

He knows as soon as the door opens behind him that he's fucked.

"Mickey?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Gallagher." Mickey doesn't turn around, just stands in the middle of the alley, head tipped back. The smoke was making him a little more dizzy than he was before, but the burn in his lungs feels good.

"What, now that you know I like guys, you won't even talk to me?"

Mickey doesn't say anything. The whole thing feels surreal until a hand grabs his shoulder, yanking him around. He swings a punch on instinct, but Ian dodges it easily and Mickey overbalances, stumbles, just manages to stay upright.

"Won't even look at me - shit, how wasted are you right now?" Ian catches him by the shoulders and steadies him. And Mickey's pathetic, (he knows that, has always known that, it's not a surprise) because it feels so good to just be around Ian, he didn't even realize he'd missed it so much. With Ian gone everything goes back to being cold and empty and Mickey feels angry nearly all the time. Ian pushes his way back in, lighting up all the dark corners, filling Mickey up and it hurts, it hurts so much. He wants to push Ian off, wants to hit him for real this time, twist his wrist so that he lets go of Mickey and stops making him feel this warm and lightheaded.

That might be the alcohol though.

"Not drunk enough to deal with your shit," Mickey mumbles, raising his eyes. Ian's neck has finger-shaped bruises on it, all sickly yellow and brown. Shit. Not thinking, Mickey reaches up a hand to touch them, just brushing over the skin.

"Mick?" Ian's voice is still hard, but it's quieter now.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Mickey's own voice comes out rough, more of a whisper than he'd like. His eyes burn and he blinks hard, clenching his jaw. "The fuck you have to ruin shit for? The fuck you have to go and kiss me for?"

"I thought..." Ian trails off, tilting his head, eyes narrowed a little, searching over Mickey's face.

"You thought I was what? Huh? Gay for your ass?" He tries to sound sarcastic, but he’s pretty sure his voice just comes out shaky and small. He trails his fingers over the biggest bruise on Ian’s neck and Ian shivers. Probably from the cold. He stares at Ian's mouth as one corner twitches up.

"Hoped you might be, yeah," Ian says softly, hesitantly, and it pisses Mickey off.

He drops his arm and tries to shrug Ian's hands off but the bastard just turns, presses him back into the wall. The whole world tilts and suddenly Ian is right there, filling up his whole vision again. "What-"

"Shut up," Ian says, and kisses him.

Mickey puts his hands on Ian's arms to push him off again, but his brain to body connection seems to have fried itself at some point because instead of pushing, he just squeezes Ian's upper arms and clings.

It's a rough kiss. Ian's teeth scrape his bottom lip, and his lips are chapped and raw on Mickey's. But Mickey pushes back into it because it almost, almost feels like a fight, and those he understands.

Everything goes a little distant after that; the only real thing Mickey registers is Ian's mouth on his, the soft sounds he's making and the way he bites Mickey's bottom lip then runs over it with his tongue. Mickey doesn't know how long they make out for, thinks he must be missing chunks of time because one second Ian's breathing into his mouth and the next Ian is on his knees in the alley in front of Mickey, fumbling with his zipper.

"What-what do you think you're-" Mickey swallows back a moan when Ian shoves his jeans and boxers down enough to reach in and pull his dick out. Ian wraps his mouth around it and Mickey's brain flashes back to the day in the backyard, Ian's lips tight around a popsicle.

He knocks his head back against the cement wall when Ian starts to suck, tongue flattening along a vein on the underside of his dick as he slides Mickey’s dick in and out of his mouth. He can't quite fit all of it without gagging, but he wraps his hand around the rest and it's enough.

Fuck, it's more than enough. Mickey's hips snap forward when Ian leans back to take a breath, and Ian looks up at him from under his lashes, spit slick lips shiny in the dim alley light. He rests his forearm against Mickey's waist, pinning his hips so he can't thrust anymore and Mickey's dick twitches.

Mickey sees Ian palming his own dick through his jeans for a second before his mouth is back and then Mickey can't think about anything else, loses himself in the rhythm.

He feels Ian's other hand come up, cradling his balls for a second before pressing in behind them and making Mickey moan outright, turning his head to try and muffle it into his shoulder.

Then Ian's finger slides further back and pushes right up against Mickey's hole, and suddenly Mickey is coming so hard he sees spots.

Ian moans, sucking and swallowing around him until Mickey is pushing him off, spent and oversensitive. Mickey doesn't think he can move, knees barely holding him up in his slump against the wall. Ian stands up and bites Mickey's neck, rubbing against him and making small, breathy sounds. He's practically rutting up against Mickey's leg and when Mickey shifts a little so that his thigh is pressed firmly between Ian's legs, Ian gasps and stills, hips twitching slightly, a wet spot spreading on the front of his jeans.

They stand there for a moment, slumped together, with Ian's nose pressed under Mickey's jaw.

"Fuck," Ian breathes. "Shit, Mick."

"You tell anyone about this," Mickey pants. "And you're a fucking dead man."

Ian just nods, breathing wet and hard against Mickey's neck.

\---

Mickey thinks he's gonna die the next morning, either from the hangover or his dad somehow finding out what happened. It's kind of a surprise when he makes it all the way to that night. From his room he hears Mandy giggling, which can only mean Ian is over. Mickey doesn’t lock his door, but he doesn’t come out when Mandy calls him, either. He yells back that he’s busy, which isn’t even a lie since he actually has a paper to write.

So what if it’s not due for two weeks, no one needs to know that.

He’s only halfway through the outline when his bedroom door opens and Ian slips in.

"What are you doing?"

"Mandy just left to pick up pizza," Ian says, yanking his shirt off over his head.

"So?"

"So," Ian says, unbuttoning his jeans. "We have 10, maybe 15 minutes."

"Ey, woah, stop." Mickey jumps up, hand out to stop Ian from walking any closer. "Whatever you think is gonna happen here ain't happening."

Ian looks at him, unimpressed, and drops his eyes to Mickey's boxers, and, yeah. He really didn't mean to get half hard at the sight of Ian shirtless, but his body seems determined to contradict his common sense at every turn.

"Yeah, so..." Ian moves forward again, hands coming up to Mickey's waist.

"Me being hard doesn't mean I’m good with all this," Mickey says, pretty sure he's just reciting what they were taught that one day in sex ed about consent. He feels like an idiot. Ian's moved his mouth to Mickey's neck, which might actually be lucky, since Mickey can't really focus on anything unimportant like talking. Or breathing.

Ian snorts a laugh into Mickey's shoulder and kisses it, but then he pulls back, humor dropping away. "Wait, seriously though? You don't want to do this?"

Ian sounds small and unsure, a complete 180 from how he walked in the room, but his hands are still resting on Mickey's hips, thumbs drawing light circles on his hip bones.

He grabs the back of Ian's neck and tugs him forward, pressing their mouths together. Ian groans, and Mickey can feel him smiling against his lips.

“Can I count this as consent?” Ian pants when they pulls apart a little.

“Fuck you,” Mickey says, and kisses him again. He’s not sure where Ian got so good at this, kissing, or why any girl he’s made out with hadn’t made him feel this good, like tiny fireworks going off in his brain. He can’t really give it too much thought, now, not when Ian has his hand on Mickey’s crotch, rubbing his dick through the thin fabric with the flat of his hand, fingertips curling over the waistband of his boxers.

“Can I, I want-” Ian tugs him closer, pulls his boxers down a little, enough to pull his dick out and Mickey inhales sharply, mouth against Ian’s jaw. He doesn’t entirely know what his plan is when he does the same to Ian, pushes his unbuttoned jeans and boxers down enough to start stroking Ian’s dick, but when he does Ian shudders and thrusts up into Mickey’s hand.

They’re not even properly kissing now, just breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together. Then Ian knocks Mickey’s hand out of the way, wraps his gigantic hand around both their dicks, rubbing them together.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Mickey swears, tipping his head back and trying not to make too much noise. For all he knows Mandy’s back already. Mickey’s lost all sense of time here in this room, with Ian licking and biting at his neck, jerking them both off quickly, on just the right side of painful.

He’s not sure if anything would make him stop right now and it terrifies him.

“Fuck, Mick, I’m gonna,” Ian groans, and Mickey can feel his dick jerk as he comes. Ian doesn’t stop though, keeps stroking them, his own come making it slicker and faster and perfect, perfect, and Mickey’s coming, tipped over the edge.

For a moment, they don’t even move except to try and catch their breath, then Ian pulls back, stumbling into the bathroom. He comes back with a towel and they clean up without making eye contact.

Mickey doesn’t want to look at Ian until he’s sure he can do it without saying something stupid, so instead he reaches down to grab a shirt from a pile on the floor. Ian grabs his arm and Mickey glances up, eyebrows raised.

Ian takes a breath, opening his mouth, and the front door slams.

“Pizza, bitches!!” Mandy calls, voice muffled through the door. “I got one pepperoni and one with veggies for you, Ian, you health freak. Where the hell are you guys?”

\---

“Where the fuck did the towel in here go?” Mandy asks from the bathroom later than night, and Mickey hates himself for immediately grinning.

\---

“Did you just fucking lock the door?”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s a public bathroom, dude, there’s like a hundred people out there-”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s the middle of the fucking day, I have class-you have class-”

“Mmhm.”

“Anyone could - fuck - anyone could walk in-”

“Mmmmhmm.”

“You think you can just...fuck...you think...shit, do that again...you...your fucking mouth, man…”

\---

Mickey might go to class with his fly unzipped, but Ian goes with a swollen mouth and sex hair, so Mickey feels at least little vindicated.

\---

“Can we, um, can we try something?”

Mickey shifts uncomfortably. “Somethin’ like what?”

“Um…”

“Spit it out, man.”

Not looking at Mickey, Ian pulls out a condom and creased bottle of lube from his back pocket.

Mickey sucks on his teeth for a moment, trying to ignore the way his heart rate just spiked. “You, uh, you want me to...to fuck you?”

Ian looks at him like a deer caught in headlights. “No! No? I, uh...I thought, uh, I could….do you.”

Mickey stops. “No.”

“Mickey..”

“No fucking way! Have you on me like I’m some bitch?”

Ian frowns. “Oh, but it’d be ok as long as you were thinking of me as the bitch?”

“I thought you were asking to be!”

“Alright, just,” Ian holds up his hands. “Look, forget it ok?”

“Fucking right we’re gonna forget it.”

Mickey can't forget it.

Mickey thinks he might forget his own middle name before he forgets something like that. He tries not to think about it, but late at night, in the dark of his bedroom, he presses his fingers inside himself (not far enough, not deep enough) and imagines they’re Ian’s, slick with lube, long and lean, sliding in and out of him until Mickey is sobbing for breath. Imagines Ian flipping him over onto his hands and knees, thrusting into him, gripping Mickey’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, breath hot on Mickey’s neck.

So Mickey doesn’t, can’t, forget about it, but Ian doesn’t bring it up again, so neither does he.

\---

“So when are you gonna let me meet your new guy, Captain Perfect Ass?”

Mickey drops his fucking fork.

“Mandy!” Ian is staring at her wide-eyed. Mickey busies himself with rinsing off his fork and determinedly looking anywhere but at Ian. Ian lowers his voice. “Can we talk about this later?”

“What?” Mandy hisses, gesturing at Mickey across the kitchen. “You said he knows you like dudes, what's the big deal?”

“Maybe I don't feel like talking about my sex life first thing in the morning,” Ian mumbles.

“Seriously?” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Two days ago at the mall you wouldn't shut up about how hot this guy was. Loudly. In public.”

“Jesus, Mandy.” Ian’s face is bright, bright red, eyes scrunched closed. Mandy smacks his arm.

“Oh c’mon,” she says. “At least tell me his name. Afraid I’m gonna try and steal him away? Maybe I will take a crack at him, see if I can't get him to switch teams.” She waggles her tongue at Ian, grinning, and Mickey is fairly sure that this is how he dies, right here.

\---

Ian eyes him warily. “I didn't tell her it was you.”

“Obviously.”

“Are...are you mad?”

“bout what? You waxing poetic about my ass to everyone?”

“Not everyone -”

“I mean you did say it was a great ass, right?”

“Ok, look-”

“Perfect? The best ass you’ve ever seen?

“Please stop talking.”

“The holy grail of asses?”

“Fucking c’mere already.”

“I don't know, I don't know if you can handle-mmpf!”

\---

When Mickey hears the scrape of the door to the roof he doesn’t even bother looking up, just holds out his cigarette when Ian drops next to him. Mickey feels his fingers trembling when he takes it. He glances over and sees Ian sniff, skin paler than usual and eyes red-rimmed.

“What’s up?”

Ian exhales shakily. “Fucking Monica’s back.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Ian laughs, but it comes out half choked. He’s knuckling his eyes and not looking at Mickey. “If you can call her that.”

“What’d she do, huh?”

“Just..” Ian blows out a breath, head tipped back. “The usual. She loves us, she’s here now, she wants to make it up to us. It’s all bullshit, but she’s got Debbie wrapped around her finger. Carl, too. They don’t remember what it’s like, when she leaves. They’re gonna get crushed.”

Privately, Mickey wonders if all the Gallaghers don't get their hopes up a little whenever Monica blows into town. He remembers his own mom, vaguely, and probably with a little too much nostalgia for it to really be accurate - he knows she was a flaky drug addict too. But he mostly remembers her hugs, the way she’d ruffle his hair and tickle Mandy until she squealed, and he thinks if she was still alive he’d probably forgive anything, every time.

Ian leans over suddenly, slumps against Mickey’s shoulder, and Mickey flinches. He’s about to tell Ian off or shove him off, but he can still feel Ian shaking a little, eyes closed, breathing deep. And Mickey just...doesn’t. Doesn’t move.

“Hey, moms suck right?” With his free arm, Mickey reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag with a few joints. He was saving them, but hey, special fucking circumstances. He lights one, nudges Ian and passes it over. His whole left side is still pressed against Mickey’s.

Ian inhales deeply, squints, blows out smoke. “She wants to take me to a club.”

“Sounds horrible,” Mickey says wryly.

“A gay club.”

“Oh.” Mickey can’t really explain why his stomach folds in on itself, or why the image of greasy, old men grinding up on Ian has suddenly imprinted itself on the back of his eyelids. He inhales and doesn’t exhale until his nose and throat feel like they’re burning. “You gonna go?”

“She’s just trying to bribe us,” Ian says, taking the joint back. “Tell us what we wanna hear. Doubt she’ll stick around too long, this time.”

Mickey doesn’t really know what to say to that, and he’s trying not to think about the fact that Ian didn’t really answer his question, so he just nods. Next to him, Ian presses closer, head tipped onto his shoulder. Mickey wants to mind more than he does, but Ian’s stopped shaking, finally. Besides, Mickey won’t say no to the extra body heat.

They stay like that for a while, finishing the joint, Mickey stubbing it out on his Ian-less side. It’s good weed, and when Ian starts shaking again it’s because he’s started giggling.

“What’s going on over there, chuckles?” Mickey nudges Ian with his shoulder and Ian lifts his head.

“I was picturing you at a club like that,” Ian says, all broad smiles and heavy-lidded eyes, and Mickey can’t be offended even if he knows he should be.

“I don’t fucking dance, man,” Mickey says, and Ian laughs harder, burrowing his face into Mickey’s neck.

“Not even with me?”

“Especially not with you.” Mickey smiles when Ian huffs into his skin. “Your gangly limbs all over the dance floor? Fucking disaster.”

“I’m a great dancer,” Ian says, trying to sound offended but failing since Mickey can still feel him smiling. “I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, like, a dozen times.”

“That is not something to brag about,” Mickey laughs, then gasps when Ian slides a hand under his jacket and shirt, fingers splayed over his stomach.

“Bet you’d look hot,” Ian breathes, biting at Mickey’s jaw. Mickey turns his head and Ian kisses him, humming against his lips. “Tight pants, show off your ass. Look so good like that, Mick. In any of your shirts, guys would be drooling over your arms.”

Heat creeps up Mickey’s neck. He knows if it was anyone else talking like this, anyone who wasn’t lightly scratching down his chest and driving him crazy with his mouth, anyone but Ian, really, he’d beat the shit out of them without thinking twice. Hell, if Ian were saying this at school he’d probably have to punch him anyway. But here, just the two of them on this roof, the words whispered in between slow, chaste kisses that make Mickey’s head spin, it doesn’t seem that bad.

“Pervy old guys drooling on me, sounds like a blast.”

Ian laughs at that. “They're not all old.”

“But they are all pervy?”

Ian shifts so he’s straddling Mickey, knees bracketing his thighs. Mickey can feel himself smiling dopily up at him, but can't seem to stop. Ian's looking at him all soft and warm and a little teasing, and when he bends down kiss him his hands slide up Mickey’s shirt and brush his nipples, making Mickey gasp into his mouth. Ian notices and smirks, pinching his nipples until Mickey is panting and twitching under him. Ian doesn't stop kissing him either, mouth hot on Mickey’s lips, his jaw, his neck. “Some of them are. Not all.”

Mickey’s not really sure what they’re even talking about anymore. He’s so hard he could cry, keeps trying to shift his hips up to get some friction. Ian obliges him, grinding down and Mickey groans.

“Don't...can't leave a mark,” Mickey mumbles, when Ian starts sucking on his neck.

“You want me to stop?” Ian whispers on his skin.

“God, no.”

\---

They don't leave the roof until the sun is halfway set. Ian’s laughing and joking when they do, loose and happy, arm slung around Mickey’s shoulders until they get closer to home and Mickey shrugs him off. Ian just smiles at him like a secret and Mickey feels a blaze of warmth go straight into his chest.

\---

Mickey loves Ian’s hands, but he has also developed a really healthy appreciation for Ian’s mouth, too.

He swallows a groan and looks down at Ian’s head bobbing up and down over his dick. He’s close, so close, and when Ian’s tongue flicks under the head of his cock he comes with a shudder and long exhale.

Ian backs off, standing up and licking his lips. He’s already got his jeans unzipped and his hand moving fast over his own dick, kissing Mickey roughly.

“Hey, um,” Mickey takes a deep breath. “You, uh, you want me to -”

Ian grins at him without stopping, a gleam in his eye. “What, lend a _hand_?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, feels his mouth tip up. “You’re an idiot.”

“Mm.” Ian smiles against his lips, and Mickey knows he could just use his hand, knows Ian never minds, always enjoys it, but -

“No, I mean. I mean like, do you want me to - you know. Blow you, or whatever.”

Ian slows to a stop, tilting his head. “Seriously?”

Mickey shrugs, looking away. “Yeah?”

“You want to?”

Mickey goes to his knees before he can lose his nerve. If Ian keeps asking him questions he’s just going to pussy out and he just. Just wants to try it, that’s all.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Ian breathes. Mickey looks up at him and sees Ian’s chest rising and falling faster. “Just, um, just watch your teeth.”

“No shit,” Mickey mumbles. Ian’s dick is red, hard, curved up toward his belly, and Mickey’s mouth waters just a little. He puts his mouth just on the head at first, tongue hesitantly pressing forward and tasting salty precome.

It’s not so bad, really. Mickey takes him deeper, enjoying the hitch in Ian’s breath when he sucks.

Ian reaches down, tugging lightly on his hair, and Mickey moans around him, taking them both by surprise.

“Shit, you’re getting off on this aren't you?”

Mickey slides his mouth off to glare at Ian.

Ian laughs breathlessly. “Ok, ok, sorry, don't stop.” His hands go back to Mickey’s head, but gentle, not pulling, just carding his fingers through Mickey’s hair and fuck, it feels so good.

He goes back to Ian’s dick and Ian groans. His hips jerks forward a little, making his dick slide in, just bumping the back of Mickey’s throat. Mickey pulls back just a little, sets up a steady rhythm, uses his hand to twist up towards his mouth as he sinks down.

Mickey wasn't sure how he was going to feel about this, if he was going to hate it or feel stupid doing it, but this? This was Ian gasping above him, the weight of Ian’s dick on his tongue, hot and smooth, the smell of Ian everywhere, totally engulfing him, and Mickey feels lost in the drag and slide, swallowing and sucking. If he hadn't just come he’s pretty sure he’d be dangerously close to coming in his pants right now, as it is his cock is still twitching with interest.

“Feel so good, Mick,” Ian pants. “So perfect, god, love that you’re doing this, love -”

Mickey flattens his tongue along the bottom of Ian’s dick, sucking hard, and Ian cuts himself off with a choked gasp.

“Gonna come.” Ian pulls on his hair, and Mickey considers backing off for a second but thinks about Ian swallowing for him, every time, and sinks back down.

Ian lets out a strangled noise when Mickey takes him in as deep as he can, and Mickey feels the cock in his mouth twitch as he starts to come.

He swallows most of it, has to back off about halfway and some dribbles out down his chin. He pulls off completely when Ian tugs his hair again, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste actually wasn't terrible, and he’d be lying if he said he didn't feel a swell of pride at the way Ian’s looking at him now, mouth open a little, face and chest flushed.

“Mickey,” Ian whispers, almost reverently. He touches the corner of Mickey’s mouth and Mickey leans into it. “That was really hot.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, Firecrotch.” Fuck, was that his voice now? Raspy and shot to shit like that? Ian makes a small noise though, and then he’s yanking Mickey up and kissing him hard, hand firm on the back of Mickey’s head, and Mickey practically whimpers against his mouth.

“So good, Mickey,” Ian says, after a moment leaning their foreheads together.

“Yeah, yeah, don't oversell it.” Mickey rolls his eyes, but he still shifts closer when Ian puts his hands on his waist, thumbs sliding over his hip bones in that way Mickey loves.

“Mean it.” Ian’s eyes are half closed, and he’s got that satisfied, sleepy post-sex grin on. “Tired.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Ok if I crash here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

He kinda figured Ian would crash on the couch, but when he gets back from the bathroom it’s to Ian passed out sprawled over his whole bed.

Mickey scratches his cheek. He knows Mandy’s out, and his dad took his brothers for the weekend, earliest they’d be back is tomorrow night. They’d be safe.

“Hey, Gigantor, scoot.” He swats and prods until Ian mumbles and rolls far enough over that Mickey can slide in.

He falls asleep in record time to the sound of Ian’s light breathing.

\---

If he wakes up in the middle of the night with Ian pressed all along his back, arm tucked around his waist, face pressed in the back of his neck, and he presses back a little more, a little closer - well. That's no one’s business but his, anyhow.

\---

"Hey," Ian bounds up to Mickey, grinning. Mickey can't help the grin back, even if he manages to quash it quickly. Fuck, he really needs to get a handle on this.

"Sup, Gallagher."

"Are you busy tonight?" Ian falls into step with him, hiking his backpack up his shoulder a little more securely.

"Got a thing with my dad." Mickey's not thrilled about it; he's got a paper due tomorrow that's only half done, which means he's going to have to stay up all night finishing it since god knows when they'll get back.

"Oh." Ian's smile wavers for a second. "What time? Want to come over for dinner before?"

"I can't, man, I got some shit to take care of first."

"Come on, just for an hour? Vee's bringing over homemade casserole and Fiona brought a bunch of booze home from the club, and-"

Something in Ian's tone, combined with the way Ian won't look at him directly has Mickey stopping. Ian stops a few steps ahead, trailing off and turning back to Mickey.

"What?"

"Why're you being weird about this?" Mickey asks, a tight coil of unease in his stomach.

"I'm not!"

"Then why are you making such a big deal out of it? I just told you I can't come and you're whining."

"I'm not whining." Ian frowns. Mickey raises his eyebrows and Ian scuffs the side of his foot on the concrete. "Excuse me for fucking inviting you over for some food, ok, I won't do it again."

"What the fuck, Ian?" Mickey steps forward, ducking his head to try and catch Ian's eye. "You're pouting cause, what, I won't come over and fucking, meet your parents or some crap?

Ian stares hard at the ground and Mickey's stomach drops. He can see the back of Ian’s neck and the tips of his ears turning red.

"Not my parents," he mumbles. "Just...you know. You already know Lip, but...everyone else. Figured you could meet them for real. It's not a big deal, Fiona's been weird lately, insisting on doing this whole family night thing once a week, so, I figured you could...come."

Ian’s eyes flick up to his for a second and then away again. There’s a terrible pause, silent except for the El rumbling by in the background.

Mickey swipes a hand over his mouth. “Ian, this…” He gestures between them. “Whatever this is, we’re not fucking dating, ok? I’m not leaving fucking flowers in your locker or carrying your books to class for you.”

“Fuck you, I don't want that-”

“No, you just want a boyfriend,” Mickey says, and Ian stops, looks down and glares at the ground. “Which I ain't. Which I won't ever be.”

“I’m not fucking asking you to be.”

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Mickey says. His heart is pounding. If Ian had thought...shit, how obvious was this thing with them? Ian wanted to tell people, did that mean he’d already told people what they’d been doing? Did Mandy know? “That’s what this whole dinner thing was about right? Bring home the guy you’ve been seeing?”

“Mick-”

The words are out of his mouth before he can even think twice about it.

“Maybe you should go be with someone who’ll do that shit.”

Ian’s head finally comes up at that, and Mickey uses all of his strength to not look away. His jaw is clenched so tight it hurts.

"What?"

"I mean if this thing with us is fucking with your head and shit, if you want someone to, I don't know, bring home to ma and pop-" Ian opens his mouth to protest, but Mickey holds up a hand - "or whatever, you're gonna have to look somewhere else. I'm not that guy."

“I know,” Ian says softly.

“Ok, so, maybe it’s better if we don't do this anymore, then.” Mickey chews on his bottom lip and tries not to react when Ian’s eyes widen.

"So, what? You’re saying, you wanna stop?" Ian steps closer, eyes frantically searching Mickey's.

Mickey shrugs carefully and keeps his face perfectly blank. "Sure. Doesn't fucking matter to me."

Ian flinches like Mickey hit him. He blinks a few times and backs away. “I...ok.”

“Ok?”

“If that’s what you want, yeah.” Ian shoves his hands hard into his pockets.

“I told you, makes no difference to me,” Mickey says.

Ian laughs, but the sound is wrong, too harsh. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever, I gotta go.”

“See ya.” Mickey turns around and keeps walking. After a second he hears Ian walk off toward his house, footsteps growing steadily fainter until he couldn't hear him at all, anymore.

\---

January turns into February turns into March, and Chicago stays cold as ever. Mickey goes to school and comes home and goes on drug pickups with his dad and brothers and comes back and stays up to finish his homework and then he does it all over again. He blames his bad mood on a lack of sleep.

Mandy invites Ian over and Mickey forces himself not to bolt to his room, but all Ian does is say hi or what's up or asks Mickey to pass the ketchup if he stays over for dinner. If they sit on the couch together Mandy sits between them or Ian will sit on the floor, and when Ian brings back a round of beers from the kitchen his fingers don't brush Mickey’s as he hands over the can.

It’s civil and distant and totally, maddeningly normal, and Mickey doesn't know why it feels like there’s an anvil sitting on his chest all the time.

\---

“Why are we going to this again?” Mickey shoves his hands further down in his jacket pockets. In mid-March it's still cold as fuck with the sun down. He doesn't know how Mandy isn't freezing in a skirt that short.

“Because it’s a party, and parties are fun,” Mandy says, checking her hair in the reflection of her phone’s screen as they walk.

“Ok, why am I going?”

“Because I was tired of you moping.” Mickey flips her off but Mandy doesn't even look at him as they start up to the front door. “So shut the fuck up and get drunk with me.”

The party is loud, in full swing by the time they walk get there, half spilled into the backyard. Because they’re Milkovichs, first order of business is a trip to the kitchen for the strongest alcohol they can find. Which, since it’s a shitty highschool party, turns out to be shitty Rolling Rock.

Mandy splits off soon after, spotting some girls from her class in the living room. Mickey rolls his eyes. Yeah, standing by himself in a stranger’s kitchen chugging skunked beer is just what he needs to put him in a better mood.

He’s on his fourth and finally starting to feel a buzz start when Ian walks into the kitchen. He doesn’t see Mickey right away, he’s looking back, smiling over his shoulder at someone. The smile slides off his face when he turns.

“Oh, hey.” Ian brushes past him to grab a beer. “Mandy didn’t say you were coming.”

“Last minute thing,” Mickey says to his beer. “She didn’t want to go alone, had to drag someone.”

Ian leans back against the counter next to him. “Sounds like Mandy.”

It’s tense for a minute. They’re alone in the kitchen but it’s far from silent between the bass and noise of the crowd in the living room.

Ian cracks open his beer and takes a sip. He pulls a face. “Ugh.”

“Fucking nasty, right?”

“So fucking nasty!” Ian laughs a little and Mickey can’t help but grin back.

“Yeah, well, drink it down, bitch, that’s all they got,” Mickey says around half a laugh.

“God, I could have stayed home if I’d known I was gonna drink shitty beer anyway. I thought Northside kids had better stuff.”

They stand there grinning at each other for a second, and Mickey can see that expression come over Ian’s face like he’s about to say something else, but there’s a crash from the living room followed by peals of laughter. It breaks whatever spell there was and Ian pushes off the counter.

“See ya in there,” Ian says, nodding toward to doorway.

Mickey salutes him with his beer and watches him go.

He’s left the kitchen and is on his sixth beer when he sees Ian again, standing in a group, laughing, one hand holding a beer and an arm slung around a guy’s shoulders companionably.

Mickey really wishes they had vodka. He sits down on the couch and when a girl, Amy, from his class tumbles onto his lap a few minutes later, he just puts an arm around her waist and lets her mouth crash down on his. At least if he’s making out he can keep his eyes closed.

He doesn’t resist when the Amy stands up a while later and pulls him up off the couch, taking his hand and dragging him down the hallway. The party has basically devolved into couples making out on various surfaces; Mickey catches a glimpse of Mandy sitting on the kitchen counter with her tongue halfway down some senior’s throat and knocks back the rest of his beer.

Amy pushes open the first door in the hall, but stops a step inside.

"Whoops, looks like this one's occupied."

She's shutting the door again when Mickey glances inside and catches a shock of red hair, a person sitting on the bed, slumped with their head in their hands.

He puts a hand on the door.

"Gallagher?"

Ian jerks his head up, then scrambles to stand. He looks at Mickey, blinking. Then his eyes go to Amy and his lip curls up.

"Sorry," he spits. "Didn't know someone was going to use the room."

He heads toward the door but stumbles, catching himself on the dresser.

Unthinkingly, Mickey takes a step toward him, freezing when Ian glares.

Amy glances back and forth between them.

"Um, I'm gonna get another drink," she says to Mickey, giving him a small smile. She leans up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and then disappears back down the hall. Mickey's pretty sure she won't be coming back.

When he turns back to Ian he finds him staring at the place where Amy had been, face blank, swaying on his feet a little. Mickey sighs and shuts the door.

"Should sit down before you fall down," he says quietly.

"I'm fine."

Mickey sighs again. He reaches out to tug on Ian's wrist, bracing himself for Ian to lash out, but to his surprise Ian goes with him, pliantly lets Mickey push him to sit on the bed.

“You want like water or something?” Mickey asks, because it seems like the thing to ask, but Ian just shakes his head. “Ok, well can I sit? I’m gonna sit.”

“Can’t really stop you.”

Mickey sits, leaving about a foot of space between him and Ian. Ian glances over and scoffs, looking away.

“What?” Mickey raises his eyebrows.

“You fucking - you have fucking lipstick all over your face,” Ian says, not looking at him.

“Shit.” Mickey pulls his sleeves over his hands and scrubs at his mouth and cheeks. He can still smell Amy’s perfume where it must have rubbed off on him and it makes him a little sick.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Ian says, and Mickey can practically hear Ian’s eyeroll, chooses to ignore it.

“You don’t,” he says. “Whatcha hiding out here for? Have it on good authority you love parties.”

“Got a little dizzy,” Ian mumbles. “Didn’t eat much today, needed to step away from all that for a sec.” He gestures at the door, to the party at large. “Didn’t mean to cockblock you, by the way. You guys could have found a different room.”

“Man, c’mon, we weren’t gonna-” Mickey cuts himself off, lets out a low breath. He can feel Ian’s eyes on him.

“Weren’t gonna what?” Ian’s voice is flat, cold. “Fuck? You weren’t gonna fuck her?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Cuz, Mick, I’m pretty sure that’s what people do when they sneak away from the party to a private room,” Ian drawls. Mickey can hear the sneer in his voice. He just shakes his head, staring at the floor so he doesn’t look at Ian. “Pretty sure she expected you to fuck her.”

“Ian, stop.” Mickey didn’t think it was possible, but he feels painfully sober, the alcohol he consumed doing nothing but churning in his gut.

Ian ducks his head, trying to catch Mickey’s eye, sliding closer. His voice drops, quieter but still razor sharp. “Did you want to fuck her?”

“No, I -” Mickey closes his eyes, scrubs his forehead. “No.”

Ian’s hand falls on Mickey’s thigh and Mickey’s head jerks up. Ian’s face is blank, but his fingers twitch on Mickey’s leg.

“What was your plan then, big guy?” Ian says softly. “Have her blow you? And then when you couldn’t get it up, claim whiskey dick?” Ian’s hand starts to slide up, fingertips running along Mickey’s inseam. Mickey can feel himself getting hard. Whiskey dick, his ass.

Ian’s still talking, breath on Mickey’s face. “You’d probably have to do something for her then, you know? Finger her? Go down on her? Maybe you’d keep trying to get hard, just to prove a point. Start to jack yourself off, but you wouldn’t be thinking about her.” Ian’s hand cups his dick through the denim and Mickey groans, eyelids fluttering before he forces his eyes back open.

“You’d be thinking about something else,” Ian says. His mouth is a breath away from Mickey’s, eyes nearly all pupil. “That time in the broom closet. On the roof. In your bedroom with my hand over your mouth so Mandy wouldn't hear.”

Mickey’s panting now, he can’t think. Ian’s stroking him through his jeans and it’s not enough, he wants more.

“My hands. My mouth. My cock.”

Mickey’s eyes drop to Ian’s mouth. He licks his lips.

“...me fucking you…”

Mickey’s mouth crashes down on his. Ian groans, hands flying up to cup Mickey’s face. He opens his mouth, swipes a tongue along the seam of Mickey’s lips and Mickey lets him in immediately, pressing forward.

“Oh fuck, Mick,” Ian breathes, between kisses. “Missed you. Missed this, fuck.”

Mickey can't even respond, can't do anything but keep kissing him. He needs his mouth on Ian somewhere, needs Ian’s hands on him, insistent on his face and neck and waist. God, when did it get so bad? He feels desperate for anything Ian will give him.

Ian bites his lip and Mickey moans in his mouth, fisting the front of Ian’s shirt and tugging him forward. Ian’s hand lands on his thigh to keep his balance, his other hand sliding up to cup Mickey’s jaw, fingers stroking his cheek.

Ian’s mumbling nonsense against his mouth. Mickey tries to listen but he only gets scattered pieces - _want you, want you right here, need-, Mickey, please, god you’re-, I missed you so goddamn much._

_You too_ , Mickey thinks dizzily, tries to tell him with each press of his hands and mouth, tries to brand himself on Ian like Ian seems to have effortlessly done to him.

Somehow they wind up laying down, Ian pulling Mickey half on top of him so he can grind up on his thigh. Ian’s just starting to tug on the hem of his shirt when there's a sharp thump on the door, and the sound of giggling. Someone probably just bumped into the door on their way to somewhere else, but Mickey's already jumping up, heart in his throat, frantic.

"What..." Ian sits up, slowly. His hair is mussed, lips swollen, eyes even more unfocused than they had been. He reaches out towards Mickey. "Mick?"

"We can't do this here." Mickey runs a hand over his face, trying to think, trying not to look at Ian.

"Stay."

"Half our fucking school's here, man. Shit, we didn't even lock the door." Mickey doesn't want to think too hard about that. All it would have taken would be one drunken couple stumbling in...

"So lock it and come back over here."

“Ian, we.” Mickey shakes his head. “We can’t.”

Silence, then. Ian just looks at him, arm dropping. Then,

“You can’t.”

“What?” Mickey wipes his palms on his thighs, distracted.

“You mean you can’t.” Ian gives him a hard smile, clasps his hands together in his lap. “You can’t do this.”

“Ian, I-”

“Just go,” Ian says, standing. “Door’s right there. Go.”

“I’ll-I’ll see you later, alright, tomorrow or something?” Mickey doesn’t mean to ask it, but his voice lifts at the end. “We can-”

“Sure, yeah.” Ian’s not looking at him now, focusing on the door over Mickey’s shoulder. He nods at nothing, keeps nodding. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Alright.” Mickey bites his lip, hand on the doorknob. “Alright.”

He goes.

\---

When word gets around to Mickey that Ian Gallagher and Roger Spikey hooked up at Mary Feltman’s party on Saturday, he punches a wall so hard he dislocates his thumb.

\---

“So Spikey, huh?”

Ian just raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, looking down at Mickey. Mickey’s really not sure where this new attitude came from; Ian’s grown into more of a confident guy lately, but this, this haughtiness is entirely new. It’s foreign to Mickey, at least, and makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. Mandy looks between them, bemused.

Ian hums. “What about him?”

“He your fucking boyfriend now?”

“So what if he is?” Ian says lightly. “Why do you care?”

“Don't.” Mickey sidesteps Ian to get to his locker, doesn't look at him when he says, “Just don't come crying to me when you start getting fag-bashed by the football team.”

“Roger’s _on_ the football team, Mick.” Ian leans on the lockers next to him, purses his lips. “No one cares that he’s gay.”

Mickey just snorts, pulling out his history textbook and a couple notebooks.

“Yeah actually, everyone’s been totally cool about it,” Mandy chimes in, brow still furrowed. “Who woulda thought a south side school was more progressive than half the country?”

Mickey slams his locker and feels childishly satisfied when both Ian and Mandy jump. “Can you guys go organize your pride parade somewhere else? Jesus.”

He stalks away without waiting for an answer, trying and failing to swallow around the lump in his throat.

\---

“They’re not dating.”

Mickey looks up at Mandy. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Ian and Roger,” Mandy says, rolling her eyes like Mickey’s the dumbass here. “Ian said they just fuck sometimes. Once, really. Mostly it’s just handjobs.”

“Why-”

“I thought you'd want to know. Ian even said the guy’s blowjobs weren't that good, anyway.”

“Jesus fucking - stop talking!” Mickey sputters. “Why are you - I don’t - why the fuck would I want to know that?”

Mandy smacks him in the shoulder. He’s so thrown off that he just lets it happen. “Stop being such a pussy, ok?”

Mickey just scowls at her and she huffs, folding her arms and hunching in on herself, looking down at Mickey’s bedspread instead of his face.

“Look, you’re a total dick, like, 99 percent of the time,” Mandy says. “But you’re my brother, and I’d kill for you, and I don't give a shit what you are ok? Doesn't matter, doesn't change anything.”

Mickey’s throat and chest feel tight.

“You have a stroke or something?” he croaks out. “Because you’re not making any fucking sense.”

Mandy gives him a quick half smile. “Love you too, asshole.”

Then she’s gone, and Mickey sits on his bed staring at nothing for a long, long time.

\---

Ian is over for an hour and a half before Mandy suddenly remembers she promised to get dinner with a girl from her class, so she leaves Ian with a promise to be back in an hour, two tops. Ian stays, sprawled out on the floor of their living room, Mickey on the sofa watching _Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift._

Mickey’s entire body tenses when Mandy shuts the front door, but Ian just flips a page in his textbook and glances up at the screen.

“Is Han driving a ‘71 Maverick? Kind of a pussy car.”

“The fuck you know about cars?” Mickey asks, surprised.

Ian shrugs. “My sister’s dating a guy who’s into them. I think he steals them, actually, but Fi’s pretending she has no idea about it.”

Mickey’s startled into a laugh, because seriously, fucking Gallaghers, and Ian flashes him a quick smile.

They lapse into an easy kind of silence, the TV the only noise in the whole house.

It’s nice, it’s companionable, it’s something Mickey didn't think him and Ian would get to have again, this sort of easy friendship. So, naturally, because Mickey is a glutton for punishment, he has to ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Mandy said you and Spikey broke up,” Mickey says, eyes fixed firmly on the TV.

The scratching of pen on paper pauses for an instant before resuming, and out of the corner of his eye Mickey can see Ian carefully shrug one shoulder up and down, still writing.

“If you want to call it that, I guess.”

“What happened, he cheat on you or something?”

“We were never really dating. Like, officially.”

“Yeah, that's what she said, too.”

Ian lifts his head and Mickey helplessly looks at him, can't not.

“Mandy’s talking a lot about my love life, huh?” Ian says, voice deliberately casual, but Mickey can hear the fine tremor in it the same way he can see the edge of desperation in Ian’s smile, the nervous tic of his leg bouncing, just slightly.

It’s Mickey’s turn to shrug. “She talks about you a lot in general, think she’s practically in love with you, man.”

Mickey colors a little when he realizes what he said and quickly turns back to the TV, trying not to notice the way Ian is staring at his profile now.

“She’s my best friend,” Ian says finally. He pushes himself to standing and Mickey looks at him, feeling stupid and a little queasy, waiting for Ian to say he’s going to leave to study at home or something.

But Ian doesn't, all he says is, “Getting a beer, you want one?” and Mickey just nods because he doesn't trust himself not to blurt out something even stupider.

Of course, that plan goes to shit because when Ian comes back and hands him the beer, Mickey grabs his wrist. “Mandy say she’s gone for an hour?”

He feels Ian’s pulse jump under his fingers. His skin is warm and it buzzes all through Mickey. “Y-yeah.”

“You wanna spend that time doing something other than calculus?”

He feels more than hears Ian’s breath catch, sees his eyes widen a fraction. But then Ian clears his throat and shakes his head just slightly.

“No, uh, no thanks.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows and tries not to look like his heart just sunk through the floor. “No?”

“I’ve got a lot of homework to finish.”

Mickey drops his wrist and snorts. “Yeah, ok. You can just say no.”

“I thought we weren't doing this anymore.” Ian says. He’s rubbing his wrist now with his free hand, Mickey thinks he’s doing it unconsciously.

Mickey crosses his arms, half to try and end the conversation by turning back to the TV and half to hide the way his hands are shaking. If Ian didn't leave soon, Mickey would have to. “Thought maybe you’d gotten all that boyfriend shit out of your system by now, figured you might want to...go back to how things were.”

“I do,” Ian says, like it’s simple, but before Mickey can say anything he continues. “But I can’t. You were right.”

“I was right?”

“Yeah.” Ian sits down on the edge of the couch, between Mickey and the TV, leaving him nowhere else to look but Ian’s hesitant and determined face. Mickey wants to punch it only half as much as he wants to kiss it and oh, he’d known he was fucked before but not quite how much, exactly. “I still want a boyfriend. Not all the flowers and shit, that’s not me, but I want...I’m sick of sneaking around, I want someone I can take out, show off, kiss in public."

Ian bites his lip and Mickey is frozen, can't do anything but stare at Ian.

“I wanna go out and sneak into Sox games or movies or just dick around all day then come home and fuck in my bed without having to lie about it to my entire family.”

Ian looks down at his lap and smiles a little. “And yeah, maybe I wanna fucking hold hands sometimes, alright?”

Mickey swallows twice before he thinks he can talk, tries to think of something to say to all that. He takes a shaky, shuddering breath. He wants, more than anything, to lean forward, tilt his chin up and meet Ian’s mouth, kiss him until he can't think about anything else, until his mind is a steady chant of _Ian, Ian, Ian_. He wants to kiss Ian until he finds the strength to promise him everything, to promise him the whole world because Ian doesn't deserve anything less.

“Ian, if my dad finds out about me, I’m dead,” Mickey says instead, voice breaking, but Ian’s already shaking his head, standing up. Moving away from Mickey.

“No, I know,” Ian says quickly, small smile on his face like this conversation isn’t carving into Mickey’s chest. “I get it, we’re cool, I just, you know,” he shrugs, “want all that stuff, so...”

Mickey feels words claw their way up his throat, press against his teeth, get stuck there.

“We just probably shouldn't start up again,” Ian finishes, finally. He sits back on the ground, shuffling his papers together but still looking at Mickey. His eyes are kind, gentle, and Mickey wants to scream. “Still friends, right?”

Mickey swallows all the words down. “Yeah.”

Ian nods like they’ve fucking decided something, and turns back to his homework. Mickey stares at his bent head for a second before he wrenches his eyes back to the TV. He stares at the screen and feels his eyes burn and blur and tries not to blink.

They don't talk again until Mandy gets back, half an hour later.

\---

It’s a Thursday when Mickey gets his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago. When he opens the large, padded envelope and reads the first line, he waits to feel something. Relief, pride, he’s not sure what, but nothing comes. His first thought is that he can’t afford the dorms, so he’ll have to keep living here. He’ll still go on runs with his dad and brothers, he’ll still spend half the night up doing homework. High school, extended and more expensive, all for a stupid piece of paper.

Nothing would change.

\---

“Hey pops?”

Terry grunts, doesn't even look up from his plate as he takes a swig of beer. Across the table, Mandy looks up at Mickey and whatever she sees on his face makes her eyes widen and mouth fall open a little.

Mickey takes a breath, pictures freckles and red hair and a wide smile that rivals the sun, and steels himself to ruin his entire life.

Fuck it.

\---

Terry doesn’t even believe him at first, makes him repeat himself and even then he still looks more confused than anything, like maybe Mickey’s joking. Once he starts saying it all though, it’s like he can't stop. He’s not sure why, but the words just come pouring out of him. _He jerks me off, I get on my knees for him and I fucking love it._ Finally his dad punches him and Mickey can’t stop laughing, not even moving out of the way. His mind is a steady stream of _fuck it, fuck it, I’m dead anyway, what does it fucking matter, fuck_. The hits almost feel good, expected and welcome in a way. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mickey knows he deserves this. He wonders if he’ll always feel like that, some part of him thinking he’s wrong, that he should be beat within an inch of his life, that he deserves it. _Fucking faggot_.

Distantly he registers Mandy screaming in the background, hears the front door open. The kitchen table is on it’s side, food and broken plates, a mess. Mickey trips over half a beer bottle and his dad uses the momentum to throw him against the wall, plaster breaking and crumbling behind him.

Terry’s eyes are furious, he’s roaring, and Mickey still can't stop laughing, not even when his head cracks against the wall and his ears start ringing, vision fuzzing out for a second. He barely even feels his body hit the ground, turning his head to spit blood on the floor. He stops fighting back completely when Terry looms over him.

He thinks he’s still laughing but he can't hear anything anymore.

In the end, seconds or hours or years later, cops pull Terry off of him. Why they’d miraculously been outside, nearby, Mickey finds out later, is because Frank had been missing for over a week, and Fiona had called in a favor with Tony to get a few patrols going. They’d been knocking on doors across the street when Mandy had flown out, screaming for someone to stop her dad from killing her brother.

Just another way the Gallaghers interfere with his life, over and over and over again.

\---

He suffers a concussion, a broken nose and winds up with a brand new scar on his cheek, but it’s not so bad, considering. Terry’s in lockup and Mickey’s brothers are giving him a wide berth, looking at him with a weird mix of admiration and apprehension. Mandy glares at him when he’s finally released from the hospital and the police have finished their questioning, but she lunges at him when he’s close enough and wraps her arms around his neck, clinging for a little too long. She even cooks him dinner when they get back home, his favorite dish: spaghetti and Ragu. He wonders if maybe he died and heaven is just a slightly less shitty version of earth.

He doesn't see Ian until a few days later at school, and Ian’s eyes widen when they cross paths in the hallway. They don't get a chance to talk until after school though, when he finds Ian leaning against a nearby set of lockers. Mickey raises an eyebrow at him and Ian pushes off, following Mickey outside.

“So you really came out, huh?” Mickey just snorts and Ian shrugs. “Mandy told me. It’s true?”

“Looks like.”

“Sorry I wasn't there,” Ian says, looking at him sideways.

“Was kinda a spur of the moment thing.”

“The look on your dad’s face musta been priceless.”

Mickey snorts, then regrets it when his nose twitches in pain. “Didn't really get a good look at it before his fist was in my face.”

Ian’s face gets serious. “I should’ve been there.”

“Nothing you could’ve done.”

“Still.”

“Ok, well next time I come out to my dad I’ll make sure I give you a call first, huh?” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. Ian laughs and goes to shove him, remembering not to just in time, and winds up just laying a hand on Mickey’s upper arm. He rubs his thumb into the skin there, looks at Mickey with a question on his face.

“I’m fine, Gallagher, quit giving me the puppy eyes.”

“Ah there he is.” Ian squeezes his arm once, lightly, before letting go. Mickey scoffs.

“Whatever, man.”

By some unspoken agreement they head to the baseball field. Even though it’s late afternoon now and the sun’s low it’s still hot out; it was going to be that kind of muggy Chicago night. Mickey has sweat on the back of his neck and beading on his upper lip by the time they reach the dugout.

“So,” Ian says, leaning back against the fence. “Why’d you do it?”

“What, come out?” Mickey wipes the back of his neck, dropping down onto the bench with his legs splayed. A breeze sweeps in, the cool air welcome on his overheated limbs.

“Yeah.”

Mickey opens his mouth, then closes it. The answer behind his teeth isn't the one he wants to give Ian. He shakes his head. “Just got tired.”

“Of?”

“Everything.” Mickey shifts, rolling his shoulders to try and unstick his shirt from his back. “Lying, I guess. Not like I’m gonna start wearing rainbows or some shit, but you know. Sick of pretending.”

Ian grins. “Pretending you don’t wanna wear rainbows?”

“Fuck you.” Mickey flips him off. “Fuck off, you know.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, nodding. “I know. Get that.”

“It’s better now. Mandy’s less of a shit at home with him gone. Being real weird to me though. She actually fucking hugged me the other day.”

“No!”

“Believe that shit?”

Ian chuckles. “Wow. I think you’re both getting soft.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey licks his lower lip. “Listen, uh. Spikey didn't come crawling back or anything, right?”

Ian frowns. “What?”

“You guys aren't back together?”

“We were never dating!” Ian says, exasperated, and Mickey holds up a placating hand.

“So you’re not dating anyone right now?”

“No…” Ian squints at him, head tilted. It’s almost same considering look he gave Mickey in the alley behind the Alibi, months ago. “Why - “

“I’m not carrying your books for you,” Mickey says, suddenly, and Ian’s eyebrows shoot up.

“What -”

“So you can just fucking forget about anything like that crap,” Mickey continues. “‘cause it’s not happening, got it?”

“Ok.” Ian’s expression is starting to clear into something too hopeful and bright for Mickey to look at directly. He kicks at the bench.

“And I ain't doing that chocolate and flowers crap,” Mickey says, standing up and leaning on the fence next to Ian.

“Nobody's asking you to,” Ian says, and Mickey can hear the grin in his voice now.

“But if, you know. I mean. The Sox are playing this weekend, I thought maybe we could. Go.”

Ian’s on him almost before he’s even done speaking, pressing their lips together and pressing Mickey back into the fence, kissing him right out there in the open where anyone could walk by.

“You’re sure?” Ian asks, when he pulls back a little bit, still pressed against Mickey from chest to hip.

“What the fuck you asking stupid fucking questions for?” Mickey mumbles. “Wouldn't have said all that shit if I wasn't.”

Ian’s smile really is a brilliant thing to behold, but Mickey has other plans for his mouth right now. He raises a shaky hand and curls it around the back of Ian’s neck, reeling him in again.

It feels like a new kind of freedom, one Mickey’s still scared of, probably always will be scared of, a little, at least. But he doesn't let go.

It’s a start.

\---

“Why is Mickey Milkovich helping Debs with her science project?”

“ _Helping_ is a strong word, Fi.”

“Ey, fuck off, _Phillip_ , I did good in science.”

“Not so well in English though, huh?”

“Stop distracting him, Lip! Mickey promised he could get my volcano to shoot actual lava -”

“Pretty sure I just said it would _look_ like lava -”

“ - and I want to see the look on Susie Blake’s face when I melt her stupid solar system diorama off the table.”

“Ian, will you come collect your boyfriend before he burns down the house?”

Ian strolls into the kitchen, bending over to look at the volcano, hooking his chin over Mickey’s shoulder. He’s smiling, warm and solid all along Mickey’s back. “He won't burn the place down, Fi.”

“Thank you, jesus, a little faith over here.”

“Not with lava that looks that crappy, anyway. Is it supposed to be all...foamy?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”


End file.
